


With Paradiso's Guidance

by zombified_queer



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Egg Laying, Eggpreg, Hurt/Comfort, Internment Camp 371 (Star Trek), M/M, Martok is fucking dELIGHTED, RIP Worf Son of Mogh, Xenobiology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 04:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14686136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombified_queer/pseuds/zombified_queer
Summary: Pain is being parted from your lover and held in an enemy prison. Pain is also learning your lover has been replaced without your realizing. Healing is coming together again after such pain and escaping with a future to look forward to.





	With Paradiso's Guidance

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, this wasn't supposed to be more than 2K words but then I spent, like, three days drunk in the desert writing this.

When the Jem'Hadar shove Julian, Garak realizes he's made a grave mistake So this is why Julian—which Garak now understands is an imposter—wouldn't spare the time to talk, wouldn't hear Garak out. The imposter had seemed so cold and Garak though their relationship was over, that the few nights they'd spent had been good fun and then done.  
But Julian takes one look at Garak, hazel eyes wide with worry as he cups the Cardassian's face in both hands. "Did they hurt you?"  
"I'm fine," Garak insists. "You should be looking over Worf. They gave him the worst of it."  
Julian, as discreet as he can, kisses Garak, just a chaste peck but affectionate enough that the Cardassian knows he's wrong. Watching him tend to Worf, the Klingon's jaw bruised, Garak wonders how he could have ever mistaken the imposter for Julian.  
The Terran catches the Cardassian's stare. "A Changeling."  
"They replaced you?"  
Julian nods. "I went up to my room at that medical conference and woke up here."  
Garak does the math. Julian's been here a month. He looks down, still ashamed of being fooled by a Changeling and here he thought he knew Julian well enough.  
Martok stumbles into the room, laughing loudly but clutching his side when he sees Worf. The old Klingon sits on one of the bunks, Julian rolling his eyes as he tends to him.  
"Martok," Worf says with a polite nod. "I am Worf, Son of Mogh."  
"Perfect, perfect," Martok says.  
Julian presses to assess the injury and the old Klingon hisses. Julian reports, "Three broken ribs."  
"We could use more Klingons around here," Martok says, waving off the doctor's concern. He waves Garak and Julian over, lowering his voice. "We're getting out of here."  
"Is that so?" Garak asks. "Well, unless you have a bat'leth tucked somewhere I don't know about—"  
"Garak?" Martok asks.  
The Cardassian nods. "I am."  
"Tain's been asking for you. He's set everything up," Martok explains. "And you're going to toy with that transceiver he's got stored away."  
Garak raises a brow-ridge. "I'm a tailor, not an engineer."  
"But you also used to be a spy," Martok says. "I think you can manage it."  
Garak looks between Martok and Julian. Julian shrugs.   
"Tain told us a lot," Julian admits. "Enough to relay to you, if he died before you arrived."  
"And he's not dead?" Garak crosses his arms over his chest, tensing.  
"Not yet, but he's not going to live long," Julian admits.   
"Heart trouble," Martok supplies. "You should go see him."  
Garak looks at Julian, who understands. Julian stands, placing a hand on the small of Garak's back.   
"You don't have to if you don't want to," Julian says gently.  
"I have to," Garak says. "Tain might not deserve my kindness, but he deserves his last rites."  
Julian nods. "Follow me."

* * *

"Elim? Elim, I can't see you," Tain says.   
Garak takes Tain's hand in his own. "I'm here, Enabran."  
"And you're alone?" Tain scents the air, his face changing into a wry smile. "You're not."  
"Enabran." Garak's voice is firm.   
"You've handled all the revenge?"  
"Every last bit of it."   
"Then I want to ask one last thing from you Elim." Enabran gives Garak's hand a gentle squeeze. "Name one of them after me?"  
Julian raises a brow at Tain's request. He opens his mouth to ask, but Garak shakes his head, the Terran closing his mouth but the question burning in his eyes.  
Garak's laugh, when he turns back to Enabran, is bitter, a quiet hissing. "That's the last thing I'm going to do."  
"Then I want you to escape," Tain says. "I can't have my heirs hatched in captivity."  
"Do you acknowledge the truth?" Garak asks. "Do you accept me as your son?"  
"Do you remember the day in the country?" Tain answers.  
Garak nods. "I do."  
"I want that for them."  
"I wouldn't count on it," Garak says, "with the exile and everything."  
"This changes a lot, Elim."  
"I doubt there's much you can do in here."  
Enabran laughs. He stops, turning his face toward Garak. Enabran’s hand rests on Garak’s abdomen, but Garak pushes Tain’s hand away. "Take care of them."  
"I will, Enabran."  
"You have my blessing."  
Enabran's hand goes limp in Garak's. Out of a sense of duty, Garak reaches up, closing Enabran's eyes. He stares for a moment before covering Enabran's body with a sheet.  
Julian crosses the cramped room, putting his hands on Garak's shoulders. "It's alright Elim."  
"Julian," Garak says, pulling Julian out of the room, into the corridor. "We need to talk about things."  
"We do." Julian pulls his hands away, arms folded over his chest. “Enabran made it sound like you were pregnant.”  
Garak turns, looking at Julian. Instead of saying anything, Garak takes one of Julian’s hands, guiding it to his lower abdomen. Julian feels, finding not the usual fat he’d expect on the Cardassian but something harder. One mass, two. Julian’s eyes widen as he feels the Cardassian’s abdomen.  
“Who—?”  
“Yours,” Garak answers, keeping his voice down and eyes on the Jem’Hadar patrolling the camp. “I meant to tell you, consult you as a doctor and as the other parent, but . . .”  
“The Changeling.”  
“The Changeling,” Garak repeats, finishing the story succinctly. “I didn’t decide either way.”  
Julian pulls the Cardassian close. “I’m not letting them be born here.”  
“They’d be hatched, Julian,” Garak says, burying his face in Julian’s neck, taking in the scent of the doctor. Sweat and the faintest sweet tinge of his cologne. It’s comforting. “But I agree with the sentiment.”

* * *

The Jem'Hadar take Tain's body. No one knows where the bodies end up but some thing they're burned.   
"I suppose he won't be getting a Cardassian burial."  
"Good," Garak says to Julian's quip. "I don't think I could ever go back to Cardassia knowing he's buried there."  
Julian takes Garak's hand in his, trying not to be too conspicuous with the displays of affection. Garak gives Julian's hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.  
"How long?" Julian asks, hazel eyes fixed on Garak's lower abdomen.   
"A couple weeks," Garak answers, "at most."  
"Then we need to be quick."  
Garak nods.   
Once the guards leave, Julian guides Garak inside, the Terran moving the vent cover aside. The dark and cramped space sends a chill up Garak's spine, the Cardassian shivering.   
"Keep an eye out," Julian tells the Romulan, who nods her head.  
Julian slips into the crawlspace like a vole, making a few gentle adjustments before the light comes on, illuminating the space. The Terran crawls out of the space, standing and brushing himself off.  
"I would do it, but I can't make heads or tails of it."  
"Stay with me," Garak says. "Just stay at the end of the crawlspace and talk to me."  
"I'll try," Julian says.   
Garak enters the space, trying to keep his breathing even, panic gnawing at his bones. He thinks of the eggs, nestled low in his belly, and it steels his resolve. Looking over the transceiver, Garak can see what needs to be adjusted to contact the runabout.   
"Garak?"  
"Hmm?" His hands work quickly, nimble with the controls.  
"Did you have names picked out?"  
Garak tries not to laugh, but he can't fight the smile. "I haven't even considered keeping them."  
"Garak, if you're alright with it . . ."  
Garak pauses, looking toward Julian. He can't see him, not with the bend in the crawlspace to the transceiver.   
"I'd want to raise them."  
The words sink in slowly. Garak's busy imagining Julian with a hatchling on his hip.   
"Julian," Garak says slowly, "you'd be a good father."  
"Better than Tain?"  
"It doesn't take much to surpass him," Garak answers, going back to the transceiver. "But you'd do a much better job."  
Julian's little laugh echoes off he cold metal, warming the space just marginally. Or perhaps Garak only thinks it's warmer.

* * *

Garak assists Julian in tending to Worf's injuries, but there's only so much the Cardassian can do playing nurse. Martok keeps eyeing the Cardassian, staring at him.  
"You're a killer, aren't you?"   
Garak blinks. "I'm a tailor. I used to be a gardener, though."  
"Any chance you could-" Martok draws his thumb across his throat- "the Jem'Hadar First?"  
Before Garak can answer, Julian cuts in, "Absolutely not." He finishes setting Worf's broken nose. "It's too dangerous."  
"Julian, my dear, you underestimate me," Garak says.  
Julian looks over at the Cardassian, a brow raised. "Elim."  
"Julian." Garak crosses arms over his chest.  
While the two stare at each other, Martok looks over Worf. "The First challenged Worf."  
"No," Julian says. "You can't, Worf, not in the shape you're in."  
"Julian, please," Garak says.   
"You need rest, Garak," Julian says. "We need you here, working on the transceiver."  
Martok looks at the Cardassian, then at the Terran. "Lovers' quarrel?"  
"No," Julian and Garak answer in unison. Julian takes one of Garak's hands in his own.  
"We're just . . . having a difference of opinion," Garak answers, "Julian hasn't seen me in a while and forgets my ability to keep myself safe."  
"And Garak seems to think he's invincible and being hurt wouldn't affect anyone else," Julian replies.  
Worf looks between the two. "Garak, if you kill the First, they will only replace him and throw you in solitary. We need you here if we're going to escape."  
Garak sighs, taking Julian's hand in a silent apology.   
"But not right now," Julian says. "You need rest. You've been working hard all day."  
Martok nods. "We'll all need rest."

* * *

Garak works on the transceiver tirelessly, Julian suggesting names, talking about how they'll raise the little ones.  
"How about Lauren for a boy?"   
Garak hums, entering the runabout's coordinates. "I've been fond of Mila for a daughter."  
He can just imagine the smile plastered on Julian's face.  
"We should get married."  
Garak stiffens. "I don't intend on forcing you to do anything, Julian."  
"No, but . . . I want to. I want the children to have both parents. It's the Cardassian way, isn't it?"  
"You, dear Julian," Garak says as soft as he can, "are no Cardassian."  
"Alright. Think about it this way: You would have Federation citizenship and be allowed to settle down on, say, Earth if things on the station were dangerous."  
"I don't intend to use you like that, Julian."   
"I love you, Garak," Julian says softly.  
Garak raises a brow-ridge at the confession.. "I-"  
"You don't have to say it, Garak. Not if you don't mean it."  
"No, Julian, I-"  
There's a sharp whistle that cuts him off.  
"Patrol. Sorry, Garak." The vent cover scrapes into place and the light goes out. "Just be quiet, alright?"  
In the cramped, cold crawlspace, the dark gets under Garak's skin like mercury, chilling him. He digs his nails into his arms, trying to ground himself that this is not the closet and this is not Tzenketh. But he finds himself crawling back toward the vent cover, shivering the entire time. It seems longer, as though the crawlspace has been extended, fingers searching for the seam to show this had been a cruel trick.   
The vent cover's firmly in place and there's Jem'Hadar in the room. So now Garak's panic is fighting against itself, part of him needing to fiercely defend the eggs in his belly, the future hatchlings. He shrinks away from the vent cover.  
"Maybe he's on a walk," Julian's voice suggests. "He does suffer from a form of claustrophobia."  
"Perhaps." The Jem'Hadar—Garak can't tell which one since they all look and sound the same—says.   
"I doubt it." Another Jem'Hadar, pacing right by the vent cover.   
It takes some force of will not to scream or knock on the wall, signalling to be let out. Garak holds his breath when the Jem'Hadar passes by the vent cover.   
"We'll look elsewhere."  
The Jem'Hadar leave and Garak is treated to the sight of Julian kneeling to remove the vent cover. Julian offers Garak a hand, helping him out of the crawlspace.  
"Garak, I'm sorry about that, are you alright?"   
Julian's talking too fast for Garak to find comfortable. Once Julian gets Garak standing, the Cardassian cups Julian's face in both hands.  
"I'm startled but otherwise fine."  
Julian continues fussing over the Cardassian, taking vitals with cold hands.   
"Julian, dear, please, I'm not fragile."  
"But you're still anxious." Julian leads Garak to one of the bunks, making him sit. "You should take a break."  
"I'm fine, I just-"  
"Rest, please," Julian says, voice firmer. "I'm not telling you as a doctor, but as your lover."  
Garak nods, taking one of Julian's hands, kissing his palm. "You're worried about the eggs."  
"Of course."  
Garak nods. "A short rest. Then I'll get back to work."  
"Don't overdo it, Garak." Julian kisses the Cardassian's temple.   
"I won't." Garak takes Julian's hand, guiding it to his lower abdomen. "I wouldn't endanger them, Julian."  
Julian's worry dissolves. He knows their children won't kick or move but just to feel the space they take up comforts Julian. He kisses Garak's cheek, tucking the Cardassian in for a short rest.

* * *

Once on the runabout, Martok gives a yell of victory. Worf is covered in more Jem'Hadar blood than his own, but badly beaten. Julian begins treating the Klingon's wounds as best he can, cleaning the cuts.  
"Julian," Garak says softly. "I think I need to rest."  
"Yes, you should, with the eggs due anytime now." It takes Julian a moment before he realizes he's let the secret slip.  
"Eggs?" Worf asks. "As in, children?"  
"Yes," Garak says. One hand rests on his lower abdomen.  
"Garak?" Julian's eyes meet Garak's. There's an understanding between them.   
"I thought they weren't due for another couple weeks," Julian says, placing a hand on the Cardassian's lower back.  
"I might have been mistaken on the date of fertilization," Garak admits. "But they're due." Garak’s voice cracks with what can only be a contraction of muscle in the Cardassian's abdomen.   
Worf simply states, "I will be here. Charting our course back"  
"I didn't need you to hold my hand, Klingon," Garak hisses. "You're perhaps the worst midwife I could ask for."  
"Go on," Martok tells Julian, the old Klingon grinning. "I'll help Worf here. Get us back safe."  
The runabout rocks with a phaser blast and Julian stumbles toward Garak. He takes Garak back, to one of the bunks, having to make do with such a small space and little medical supplies.   
Garak seems to know what to do, stripping out of his trousers. Julian watches for a moment before kissing Garak's cheek, ready to help Garak with the laying. The scaled slit is slightly parted, the muscles in Garak's abdomen tightening.  
"I'm sorry I don't have a hypo for the—"  
"I'm not in pain," Garak insists. "This is just a minor discomfort."  
Garak's hand finds Julian's, their fingers intertwining.   
"I don't believe you," Julian says.   
"I've been tortured, Julian, this is nothing."  
But the next muscle spasm has Garak pushing, the egg laid with a certain amount of ease. The shell is a sandy brown, soft to the touch and shining. Julian strips off his uniform jacket, knowing the eggs will need to be kept warm.  
"I must say, Julian, you're taking this in quite well," Garak says, resting for the moment.   
"I . . . they're ours." Julian rubs Garak's thigh. "I want to protect them."  
Garak gives a hum, staring at Julian.

* * *

"You're scared," Martok notes when they're out of the Jem'Hadar line of fire.  
"I am not afraid of a Cardassian. I just prefer to stay away from delivery rooms."  
"Explains why Alexander turned out the way he did."  
Worf turns to Martok. "What does that mean?"  
"He's a fine kid. Bit skittish."  
Worf turns back to the console.   
"You would be a terrible midwife," Martok adds. "I pity anyone stuck with you."  
"I have delivered Miles O'Brien's oldest child."  
"And still so scared," Martok says, shaking his head.  
Julian joins the Klingons, sighing softly.  
"How did it go?" Martok asks. "I think there should be a whole verse about this."  
"It went well, Garak's resting," Julian reports.   
Martok stands, placing his hands on Julian's shoulders. "You should be proud. It's not everyday you escape your enemies and deliver your children."  
"They're eggs," Julian corrects. "They won't be children for a few months yet."  
"Still, this is a time to celebrate."  
"I might need a moment to process everything."  
"Then stay here with Worf," Martok says. "I can check on your Cardassian."  
Julian nods, taking the co-pilot seat. He doesn't say a word, helping Worf maintain their course to the station.  
"Have you decided what to do with them?" Worf asks.  
Julian blinks. "I want to keep them."  
"With Garak?"  
"With Garak, preferably," Julian says. "I'm not sure the idea of commitment appeals to him."  
Worf nods. The Klingon doesn't pry.   
"They'll need an incubator," Julian notes, more to himself.  
"O'Brien might be the best option," Worf says. "I would not trust the Ferengi with something this . . . delicate."  
Julian laughs, looking over. "Miles would be the best choice. I want the little ones healthy."  
"How many were there?"  
"Two," Julian says with a hint of pride. "I'm impressed there's multiple, considering the circumstances."  
"They will cause twice as much trouble," Worf says.  
"Perhaps," Julian admits. "But I think every child comes with their own mischief."  
Worf shakes his head. "Odo will not be pleased."

* * *

When they arrive on the station, Julian allows Garak to head to his quarters, the eggs wrapped discreetly in Julian's jacket.   
The Cardassian spends time adjusting the bedroom's temperature to better suit the eggs, keeping them warm and humid enough. He checks everywhere for everything, finding one of Odo's delightful little plants and disabling it.   
Satisfied the clutch is safe, Garak curls up with them, stroking the firm shells.   
"What will we do with you?" he asks.  
But he finds himself nodding off, dozing after the excitement of the past couple of days.  
He wakes when he hears a tricorder, sitting up and pulling a phaser from one of his many hiding spots.   
Julian raises his hands, the tricorder still held. "I was just checking on the three of you."  
"What was your opinion of Never Ending Sacrifice?" Garak asks. "You had a firm, if Federation, belief in the novel."  
"It was . . . repetitive," Julian says. "Too repetitive. Everyone served the state loyally, had children, and died. You said the repetitive epic was a noble literary form."  
Garak lowers the phaser. "Julian."  
"The Changeling's dead, Garak."   
"How?"  
"It tried to sabotage the mining of the wormhole and space around the station," Julian says. "It was destroyed with the stolen runabout."  
Garak sighs, setting the phaser aside. "The eggs?"  
"Viable, both of them," Julian answers. "But how are you holding up?"  
"Do you want the truth?"  
"Always, Garak."  
Garak swallows. "I'm scared, Julian. A Cardassian in exile is bad enough but a Cardassian in exile having hatchling with the enemy? Unheard of."  
"We're not enemies."  
"Not you and I," Garak says. "But the Federation and Cardassia."  
Julian sets the tricorder aside. "If you don't want them-"  
"I don't know what I want," Garak admits. "I want them safe but they wouldn't be safe with me. I want you, but we would be ostracised by both sides."  
"Garak, if you'd just-"  
"You are naive, Julian," Garak says. "The Federation will treat me as an informant, at best."  
"And you could be a rather good informant," Julian says. "We could use your insight."  
"I'd rather be a simple tailor," Garak says.  
Julian sighs, cupping Garak's chin, forcing the Cardassian to look up at him. "I have only two questions, Garak."  
"I might have answers," Garak says, taking in the care in Julian's hazel eyes, the almost pouting set of the Terran's lips.   
"Do you want the eggs or not?"  
"The eggs are a matter of-"  
"Yes or no," Julian says, his voice firm. "Do you want them or do you not want them?"  
"I . . . want them."  
"Will you raise them with me?"  
Garak takes Julian's hand, kissing the Terran's knuckles. "I'd like to."  
Julian looks at the eggs, their russet-brown shells, Cardassia-sand coloured. He's seen their children, just small clusters of cells in the fluid of the egg, hardly large enough to be considered "children" in any sense.   
"They'll be loved," Julian assures Garak. "We live in uncertain times, but I know I'm going to love them."   
Garak hums. "They'll need both of us."  
"Let me be your bond-mate," Julian insists. "It's the Cardassian way, isn't it?"  
"It is." Garak takes both of Julian's hands in his own. "But we're not on Cardassia."  
"Still, I would like you, if you'll have me," Julian says.  
"Only if it is discreet. Private."  
"Of course." Julian kisses Garak's temple. "We can have Miles and Keiko witness."  
"Sisko officiating?"  
"Mhm," Julian says. "We could have our own vows."  
"No," Garak says. "I detest most of the Federation's childish idealism but I think their wedding vows will suffice."  
Julian smiles, pressing his forehead to Garak's.

* * *

Garak is folding clothes in the bedroom, listening closely to the children.  
Lauren sits at the kitchen table, legs swinging as he does his homework. Their son inherited Julian's height and looks, his ocular and aural ridges less pronounced. Lauren also takes after Julian in his studies, announcing he's going to be a Federation doctor like his father. It’s a small source of pride for Julian for his son to want to go into Starfleet and pride for Garak for their son to want to take up medicine.   
Milar takes after Garak, quieter and more observant. His ridges more pronounced and his scaled skin more grey than russet. He's also petulant like Garak, disobeying just to see the consequences. Milar is more subdued about his passions than Lauren. Garak hopes he'll go into art, perhaps take up writing if he'll only do his homework. Perhaps he'll be a poet.  
When the door chimes, the hybrid twins look at one another, grinning. They rush to greet their guest, Martok smiling at the twins.  
"You've grown," he says, looking down at Lauren and Milar, "you two will be strong warriors in due time."  
Martok steps into the family quarters, sinking onto the sofa.   
"Tell us the story," Lauren demands, sitting in Martok's lap. "Tell us about the camp again."  
"Again?" Garak asks, leaving the quiet of the bedroom to keep a closer eye on the little ones. "You always add more Jem'Hadar to the story each time you tell it."  
"And rightfully so," Martok says. "Worf fought the whole company of Jem'Hadar, taking out five, no, ten men with each swing of his sword."  
"There were no bat'leths," Garak says, sinking into his armchair.   
Milar perches on the arm, staring wide-eyed at Martok but staying close to Garak.  
"We were disarmed the moment we set foot on that awful asteroid," Garak continues.  
"Ah, but the greatest feat of honour and strength was your father here," Martok says, smiling at the Cardassian. "He managed to kill five Jem'Hadar while also fixing the transceiver to get us out of there."  
"Now you're simply lying," Garak says, "and poorly too."  
"But you did fight honourably," Martok says.  
"It was a crawlspace hardly large enough for myself," Garak answers.  
"But, yadik, you got them out," Lauren points out. "And that's honourable."  
"And very Klingon," Martok adds.   
Garak rolls his eyes. "I didn't want the Jem'Hadar to hurt the little ones."  
Mirall shudders, pressing closer to Garak who holds the child close. "Would they have hurt us, yad'?"  
"They would have taken you," Garak confirms. "And I refused to let that happen."  
"But, you two were born just moments after we escaped that prison," Martok soothes.   
"They were eggs," Garak says, "and they didn't hatch for some months."  
"But we were laid after the escape, right, yadik?" Lauren asks, hazel eyes wide.  
"You were. Your father delivered the two of you."  
"And he spent nights pacing before the incubator with his tricorder." Martok barks laughter, Lauren joining in with a giggle. Even Mirall smiles.  
"He did." Garak smiles in his own small way. "He was already so attached to the two of you before you even had a heartbeat."  
Mirall makes a low purr.  
The door opens, interrupting story time, Julian stepping into his home. He smiles at the children, who hurry to hug the Terran, both wanting affection. Julian kneels, hugging both sons close.   
"Martok," Julian greets, "you should have told us you were coming over."  
"I was just passing through to see Dax." Martok stands, groaning a bit. "I should go see my old friend."  
Martok leaves Julian and Garak's quarters, humming some Klingon battle song.  
"Were you two good for yadik?" Julian asks.  
"Yes," the twins answer, Milar more reluctant than Lauren.  
"All your homework done?"  
The twins shrug and Julian raises a brow. Lauren hurries off first, knowing he'll be finished before his brother.   
With the twins doing their work, Julian crosses the living room, leaning in to give Garak a lingering kiss, pressing their foreheads together.  
"Missed you," Julian says.  
"You always do. I worry you might have separation anxiety."  
Julian smiles, kissing Garak's cheek. "I might."  
"I know what might cure that," Garak says.   
"Gross," Lauren complains, not looking up from his homework. "Kissing."  
Julian laughs and makes a point to kiss Garak again, lingering and slow and full of love.


End file.
